


Sujatha

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Jodhaa Akbar AU fics [4]
Category: Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Sister-Sister Relationship, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: Sujamal is born Sujatha instead, the only daughter and only child of the late King of Amer. In a world where no upstart cousin threatens the trueborn heir’s claim, what happens to Amer, Agra, and Hindustan? Genderswap AU.





	Sujatha

**Author's Note:**

> An AU with fem!Sujamal, or Sujatha. Jodhaa and Sujatha have an eight-year age difference, and are twenty and twenty-eight respectively when the events of the movie take place.

Sujatha grows up loved and cherished, but always on the sidelines. She is only a girl, the sole surviving child King Bharmal’s elder brother had produced before his untimely death; what threat can she ever pose? She is harmless enough to be loved, worthless enough to be forgotten. She never has the crown dangled in her face, never has any reason to rebel or desert.

She is content, after a fashion, being an older sister to Bhagwant Das and Jodhaa, being an aunt to the children that come after, the difference in age so great they could be her own children. But Bharmal has ignored her betrothal, even as she grows to womanhood and reaches twenty unwed, and then inches closer to thirty. It hurts, knowing he does not consider her worth the expense of a dowry, when he has so many daughters of his own to wed. But Sujatha has never been feared in this timeline, only neglected, and in a way she’s happier for it.

She still cherishes Jodhaa most of all, still teaches her how to swordfight, although Sujatha knows the art only from spying on her brother-cousins’ practice. Jodhaa is still every bit as forthright, as attuned to her cousin’s mind and struggles. At eleven, she is betrothed to Ratan Singh of Ajabgarh and excited for it, but also indignant that Sujatha is so much older and still a maiden. Sujatha gently counsels her away from raging to Bharmal on her behalf, and instead coaxes out of her her plans and dreams for when she is Queen of Ajabgarh.

It is almost enough.

And then the Mughals shake their world.

The need for a betrothal between a Princess of Amer and the Emperor arises, in exchange for an alliance and peace. Jodhaa, of course, is out of the question, already meant for Ajabgarh. Bharmal must be careful not to rock the boat with the one remaining Rajput ally they have. His second daughter, Sukanya, is sixteen and still unbetrothed, old enough to wed, but he weeps to think of sending any of his trueborn daughters into the maws of Agra.

Then he remembers his niece-daughter, Sujatha, still unwed and nearing spinsterhood; a rapidly aging embarrassment and burden to the House of Amer.

She would be Empress of Hindustan, he reminds himself; a greater title than any of her cousin-sisters will ever lay claim to.

He will be doing right by his elder brother, as when he promised to raise his daughter like his own.

* * *

Amer is swamped; two of its princesses are being married off in one year.

Only Jodhaa seems to notice Sujatha’s silent misery.

“You could demand that he not convert you, before you wed. You could ask for the freedom to maintain your traditions, if only in the privacy of your own heart,” Jodhaa hisses, as they are supposed to be looking through _mehndi_ patterns. Her brow furrows, her keen mind working furiously. “The Emperor needs this alliance, if not as much as we need it, and surely you can exact some compromise, some small concession out of it, that makes your life more bearable.”

But Sujatha refuses.

Queen Padmavati, too, tries to offer alternatives. In this world, with no superior claim to threaten Bhagwant Das, she’d grown to love this orphaned girl like her own firstborn, as much as any of those born of her own womb (and maybe even more): enough to whisper suggestions of treason.

“You could send a companion in your place. The Emperor has never seen you,” she pleads, clasping Sujatha’s hands.

Jodhaa lights up at the idea, silently begging her to agree.

“If he discovers the truth, he will bring his wrath down on Amer,” Sujatha says dully. As much as it has always neglected her, she will not risk the House that she descends from, the kingdom she hails from.

(“This is your chance to do good for this house,” Bharmal had told her, when the news broke. _Your chance to make up for the burden you have always been_ Sujatha had silently translated. “You are sacrificing your happiness for Amer, and that is the greatest service you can ever provide it.”

“What of your honor? Your faith? Your wellbeing? Are those worth sacrificing for Amer?” Jodhaa had snapped. “Is Amer served if its daughter loses those in the process?” But Sujatha had shushed her, and turned her head away.)

Sujatha turns her head away now, and Padmavati sighs. She reaches into the folds of her sari, deep enough that her elbow disappears, and then she is pressing something into Sujatha’s hand.

A vial of poison.

_Just in case._

Jodhaa is horrified, indignant, outraged.

Sujatha is silent, cold as the vial her fingers clench around.

* * *

Her _doli_ awaits her.

She picks idly at the hem of her yellow sari; it is the last time she will wear the color. After this, her future husband will likely want her in green, the Mughals’ emblem, to show that she is now and entirely utterly his.

She has never belonged to Amer, or to anyone really, except maybe Jodhaa, but it still hurts to know that she was the most expendable, that she was the least painful goat to send off for sacrifice. At least in Agra, she will have _belonged_ somewhere for the first time, even if _belonged_ is closer to _owned_.

Jodhaa ducks behind the curtain and dismisses the maids. “Why are you here?” Sujatha rasps, her voice hoarse from tears and disuse. They had said their painful goodbyes last night, rather than postpone it to morning.

Jodhaa holds out her hand. “Give me your sari.”

Sujatha stares.

“We’ll swap places. I’ll go in this _doli_ , you go in mine when it leaves, three months from now.” Jodhaa’s voice is clipped, terse, as she unpleats her own veil. “You can be Queen of Ajabgarh, and I’ll be Empress of Hindustan.”

Sujatha’s mouth is dry. “Uncle specifically promised Ratan Singh the trueborn daughter of Amer’s hand, not its pitiful orphan. And if the Mughals find out?”

Jodhaa drapes her veil over the divan. “Only in Amer do they care about such distinctions. Outside its boundaries, what difference does it make? We are not princes, that the higher we are on the pecking order, the more desirable we are. Two kingdoms were each promised a princess, and they shall each receive a princess.”

Sujatha is aghast. Jodhaa has looked forward to being Queen of Ajabgarh her whole life, planning the paradise she will cultivate and the queen she will be. And in a flash she is ready to give it all up.

Jodhaa looks at her pleadingly. “Do you want this to be your life? To give up Lord Krishna, to give _pujas_ and _bhajans,_ to spend the rest of your life rolling that vial between your fingers and wondering if you made the right decision?”

Sujatha releases a long, low breath. Jodhaa is young, bright, the true princess; she is meant for, has always been meant for better things than Sujatha can ever expect.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you are my elder sister.”

Jodhaa says it so simply, so readily.

Sujatha struggles not to cry.

It took several hours to don her veils and all her jewelry that morning before dawn; it is the work of ten minutes to transfer it to Jodhaa.

“Neelakshi and Madhavi have already been filled in,” Jodhaa whispers. “And I talked it over with your maids. They will keep the secret. No one will breathe a word.”

They embrace, desperately, painfully tight, fiercely. The song starts up outside, about saying goodbye to a new bride, and Sujatha flees.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe the inspiration for this fic to [this post](https://avani008.tumblr.com/post/172942195715/jodhaa-jalal-and-sujamal-for-the-10-sentences-if) by Avani, specifically this line:
> 
> “Jodhaa is the trueborn daughter of the house, and destined for Ajabgarh, as Sujatha is meant for the Mughal palace; but at the last minute, seeing her sister’s silent misery, Jodhaa takes her place.”
> 
> Like all my other WIPs, expect infrequent updates.


End file.
